Playgroup
by spuffy luvr
Summary: Pure fluff. Buffy's trip to an alternate dimension has lasted weeks longer than expected, leaving Spike to go barmy playing Mr. Mom with their daughter. NOT part of the Gem-verse.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, so I made myself write something fluffy and silly, because I'm tired of the angst taking over! Pretty please let me know what you think! Can I write light too, or should I stick to angst?

Three short chapters, already finished.

Disclaimer: Spike and company belong to Joss Whedon, ME, Fox, and some other people I'm sure. I write for fun, not profit.

* * *

Spike jittered about with an unlit fag dangling from his lips, folding a few shirts before abandoning that task to stack away some dishes, then being distracted by the leftovers that needed cleaning out.

Tossing out container after container of uneaten vegetables, he vowed to stop serving them. Pointless, it was. The chicken wings, on the other hand, had been all gobbled up. He growled, realizing he'd have to head to store for more. Selfish little bugger eating all his wings when vegetables abounded. At least she hadn't developed the taste for blood. Or whiskey. Those were still all his.

He'd half-swept the hallway when the blissful sound of silence flowed down the stairs. Sighing gratefully, the vampire collapsed backwards into his worn armchair. The little sweetling had been crying for a half-hour straight, first because she didn't wanna go to bed, and then because Daddy was too mean and she missed Mommy.

Spike missed Mommy too. But Mommy was out of reach. A brief jaunt to another dimension had turned into the weeks-long quest that wouldn't end, leaving him to go barmy playing Mr. Mom. It was especially difficult after nights like this one. It had taken all his willpower to keep from running in there and rocking the little one to sleep. But _Mommy_ had made it clear that _Daddy_ had better not spoil little Lissa while she was gone.

How did Buffy do this every day? And when the bloody hell was she coming back?

Never mind that he was essentially housebound. Thanks to a week of record clear skies, usually cloudy Seattle was too hostile an environment for a father-daughter outing to the park, and he wasn't about to face the wrath of Buffy for having conveniently adjusted bedtime to past nightfall in order to avoid cabin fever. Sodding summer months.

Normally he'd call up one of the Scooby lot, have them come sit so he could head out for a bit, but they'd all gone off on this quest too, leaving the flammable vampire (_It's the dimension with two suns, honey_) behind to tie the yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree.

He nursed his beer – no hard alcohol while on Daddy duty, normally not as much of a hardship but it'd almost been a bloody month without a decent drink – and contemplated all the ways Buffy would be making it up to him when she finally returned.

_Dear Buffy. Take a good long look at the floor, because you'll see nothing but the ceiling for days when you get home. Yours, Spike._

Flicking through the channels, Spike hoped the weatherman predicting a nice drizzly day on the morrow was marginally more competent than usual. T'would be brilliant to be able set foot outside these four walls.

The phone rang. Glaring at it, Spike let the answering machine pick it up. Just about everybody he knew was in some other sodding dimension, and the ones that weren't weren't big on using phones, preferring the time-honored tradition of communicating via fists and fangs.

_Beep_. "Hey Buffy, this is Jenny… just calling to check up on you 'cause we haven't heard from you in weeks…" _Jenny_. One of Buffy's 'normal' friends, the kind he wasn't allowed to talk to (_sweetie, do you know how hard it'll be for Lissa to make friends if their parents well… meet you_?). Nice woman, his Buffy.

Okay, so maybe the fact that he was feeling bumpy in the forehead region just now was a point in her favor. He was thoroughly accepted in their usual circles, and not at all used to having to _pass_, as they say.

The chit was still talking. "Anyhow, playgroup is tomorrow afternoon at my house if you're not busy. I know the other kids are really missing Lissa…"

_Playgroup. Away from the house. Cloudy day. Something to do. Somebody to bleeding talk to with a vocabulary larger than 'no' and 'mine'! Someone else to play endless rounds of tea party (a century of it with Dru was enough to turn any man off that pastime)._

Spike would kill Mr. Weatherman if he'd been lying.

He grabbed the phone up. "Uh… Jenny?"

"Hi. Yeah. Is Buffy there?"

"She's… gone on a trip. To visit her… sick grandma. Grandma's taking much longer to kick the bucket than we thought so Buffy's not back yet."

"Uh… Oh…"

That didn't sound too promising. "Yeah, so… playgroup? Tomorrow? I could bring Lissa, right? Or is this a birds only thing?"

"Birds…?"

"Uh, women. Motherly types."

Jenny laughed. "Not on purpose. Just the way it usually works out. You're Lissa's dad I take it?"

"Uh-huh. Spi-" (_We want Lissa to have friends!_) "William."

Directions in hand, Spike smiled. He was going to playgroup!

He wiped the smile off his face. Bleeding nancy buggering ponce. He tried a sneer. There, that was better.

_Bloody hell!_

What did one wear to playgroup?

He flew up the stairs to check his wardrobe for something that didn't scream sexy creature of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** Thank you for the lovely reviews!

I have to confess that I pilfered Spike's line about looking at the floor. In a book entitled "Voices and Images of the Great War", there is a letter a soldier sent home that reads in its entirety: _Dear Jeannie, I am expecting leave soon. Take a good look at the floor. You'll see nothing but the ceiling when I get home. _I read it, blushed and giggled, and thought - Spike would say that. So thank you randy Scotsman Captain R. McDonald for the inspiration.

(Another quick note, Spike is normally very happy with Buffy and Lissa, but he's feeling abandoned and resentful and irritated at the moment, so he's coming across a little) NO NO NO! There will be no freaking seriousness, not even in the Author's Notes! Fluff only, damn it!

* * *

Spike stood in the tiny sliver of shadow behind a hedge at the foot of the front porch, cursing Mr. Weatherman. His tattered, smoking blanket lay huddled at his feet. If dear Jenny gave him a clear invitation he could be up the stairs and inside before he began to reek of vampire flambé, and if she stood to the side while doing so then he wouldn't even have to shove her out of the way.

The hat and gloves and duster were debonair, certain sure, but he drew the line at huddling under the oversized, thick black umbrella Buffy'd had made special for times just like this. Better to lurk in the shadows, even if the shadows were courtesy of a giant sodding bush in a yard that screamed suburban housewife lives here. Got to keep the image up. Large black umbrella suggested poofter of the Michael Jackson variety. Smoking blankets and bush-shaped shadows, on the other hand, indicated vampire rebel.

Big difference.

"Go on, darling, ring the doorbell like a big girl now," he encouraged Lissa.

"No! Don't wanna. You do it!" she said around a mouthful of thumb.

Spike's nostrils flared and his fangs itched. Oh, to be evil again…

"How you going to get inside to the biscuits if you don't ring the bell?" Lissa had prattled on the whole way over about the sweets Miss Jenny usually served. One hesitant finger reached up and touched the button. Nothing happened. "Push it harder, luv, use all your big-girl strength. Like Mummy."

Success.

He bent to examine the flowers on the hedge as the front door opened – the very portrait of a serious horticulturalist interested in an unusual specimen, thereby having a perfectly good excuse for standing in the bushes as opposed to up on the sunny porch with his daughter.

Miss Jenny chirped, "Lissa, darling, you're here! Where is your daddy…" Her chipper tone faltered as Spike turned to face her, and she took a nervous step backwards. "Wi-William?"

Spike considered his options, that predatory corner of his mind quickly assessing how to gain entrance. The sexy creature-of-the-night routine generally worked best at, well, night… or at the very least when he wasn't hiding behind a damned flowering bush. Plus, Buffy probably wouldn't much go for him acting all seductive like with her girly friends.

Best to go with the invalid routine then. Which, if memory served, was the usual excuse Buffy gave for his general lack of appearance at sunny outings.

"Hullo, Jenny. I, ah… 'M a bit allergic to the sun, see, so just playing it safe in the shade here."

Jenny got that motherly look all females acquired on hearing his plight. "Oh, William," she cooed. "Buffy mentioned, but I forgot, I'm so sorry." She turned to the little girl. "Come on, Lissa, let's get you inside so your daddy can get out of the sun."

Not quite the invitation he needed. Spike hovered behind the bush, unsure what to do as Jenny and his daughter traipsed inside. Should he risk rushing the door, hoping the implicit invitation was enough? Would his daughter become an outcast if the mothers within watched him bounce away from the open front door like a rubber ball, scuttling back to the safety of the bush to stop, drop and roll? He didn't think he'd continue to garner feminine sympathy under those circumstances.

Fortunately the mistress of the house returned with a curious look. "William, you do realize you're welcome to stay?"

He bit back a growl. At this point he was only welcome to _stay _in the yard. _Remain calm, mate. Sweet and shy._ "You sure? Wouldn't want to intrude on your girl talk."

"Don't be silly. Please, come in and join us."

No telling him twice. Spike was up the stairs and inside before Jenny could even blink, then stopped suddenly, his eyes wide. Whoever had said mirrors made a room look bigger should be eaten, because Jenny had taken the advice to heart. Either that or she was a narcissist of the highest degree. Bloody hell, there were mirrors _everywhere_.

Christ, this was why Spike didn't try to break in to Buffy's other social circle. If he hadn't been so desperate for a bit of adult companionship, he would have remembered that.

Not showing up in mirrors wasn't likely to be missed, not with this many around.

Possible solutions flitted through his mind. _Crawl around on your hands and knees. Explain the lack of reflection as part of your condition. Grab Lissa and run. Eat everybody in the house before they form a mob of angry housewives and toss you out on your ass._

Lissa, the little traitor, had long since abandoned him for biscuits and friends. He dropped to one knee as Jenny turned back from shutting the door, setting his hat and gloves next to him and fiddling with his boot laces. "So, you like mirrors, eh?"

"Oh," she blushed slightly, eyes widening as they roved over his face, the pink color creeping down from her cheeks and drawing attention to her long neck. The 'sucking everybody dry' plan jumped up the list a place or two. Should have eaten more before he left. "It's a… thing… It started as a joke, and well, people give me unusual mirrors as gifts."

"Your whole house like this, then?" he probed,.

She shook her head. "The playroom is mirror-free. I've learned my lesson about glass and small children. Mirrors aren't such a great idea in a room where the majority of toys get used as missiles. That's where we'll be," she added, seeming to notice his distrust of the mirrors.

_New plan: Don't be so bloody obvious. And how to make it from here to there… Keep her eyes focused on you during death march down hall of mirrors? _Spike knew he was a sexy bloke, but using his charms on Buffy's friends? Again, a sure way to trouble_. _

_Get Jenny to leave, find own way to mirror-free playroom_.

He smiled disarmingly. "You know, I let Lissa practice tying my laces and they're giving me a bit of hell. I'll be along as soon as I've undone this bleeding knot she's made."

With a sympathetic smile, Jenny said, "Sure. Go left through the kitchen at the end, it's easy to find – the big sunny room with the screaming kids."

Spike's eyes widened.

_Sunny?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:**

Wow, it looks like fluff is a win. Thanks for all the reviews! I hope you guys meant to encourage me to keep writing, because that's what you've done! :)

Seasonal Spuffy's fall 2012 prompt dovetails nicely with a plot bunny I've been trying to ignore for a few months, so I suppose I'll disappear into that for the next few weeks.

* * *

He couldn't have been content at home with his daughter, safe and sound and non-dusty, no, he'd had to go out and mingle.

Standing in the doorway of the anti-vampiricly sunny room, Spike considered telling Lissa it was time to go, never mind that they'd just arrived, but her happy squeals stayed him. She'd been just as house bound and cranky as he. Instead he edged his way along the wall towards the one shady chair in the corner, coming to a halt with a rictus of grin plastered on his face as five pairs of maternal eyes found him.

Spike wondered if the poncy khakis and blue button down he'd found buried in the back of the closet were working in his favor or not. As the women in the room continued to gape at him, he considered pulling back on the duster he'd draped over his arm, wrapping it tightly around himself and hiding the ridiculous costume he was wearing.

"William!" Jenny said, hurrying to his side. "Don't be shy, come join us over here!" She grabbed him by the arm and tugged. Spike dug his heels in and leaned back. "We won't bite," she teased, tugging harder, forcing his stockinged feet to slide across the wooden floor.

_Not your bite I'm worried about_, he huffed to himself, holding his fangs in by sheer willpower.

As one toe crossed the line into a sunbeam and began to tingle in a very bad way, Spike gave up on subtlety. "The sun!" he groaned.

Jenny released him with a horrified gasp and he staggered backwards, hitting the wall behind him with a thump, hands splayed out along the solid surface for support. Aware that all eyes were glued to him, Spike refrained from screaming (_Bloody Buggering Sodding Hell!_) as his left hand burned and smoldered. He straightened, whipping around to see a small wooden cross made of decorated popsicle sticks affixed to the wall where his hand had been.

Memories of Wood's garage overwhelmed him. Glaring at the cross, Spike considered ripping it off the wall and stomping it into splinters.

_Deep breaths. _

_We want Lissa to have friends._

_Should have stayed home._

Jenny was staring at him in horrified silence while the other mothers were frozen in various poses, halfway out of their chairs, uncertainty written all over their faces. With a quick tongue swipe to determine the status of his fangs, Spike smiled ruefully. "Didn't mean to scare you, ladies. Just – that sun allergy can be a real bit-" Many pairs of tiny wide eyes gazed up at him. "A real pain," he hurried to say.

"The sun makes my daddy sick," Lissa piped up. "Once he even caughted on fire."

"Sure felt like it," he said with a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the hyperbole of small children.

Jenny unfroze and hurried to the curtains, yanking them until Spike's half of the room was plunged into gloom.

"That's why you work nights, right? That's what Buffy told us," one of the young mothers asked.

Spike nodded. "Yeah, usually I avoid the sun like… a vampire." He waggled his eyebrows at his little joke and the women laughed. "But with Buffy gone so long…"

With that, the tension in the room broke. All the mothers cooed at him, fussing around him and making sure he had the comfiest chair, drinks and snacks, whatever he needed. Spike wriggled deeper into the armchair, pleased with all the attention he was receiving. _Now this is more like it_. The children turned back to their games, uninterested, as their mothers listened raptly to Lissa's daddy describing his work as a 'security' guard.

Somehow, he managed to pull it off for the next hour, dazzling the ladies with his daring, remembering to mutate his tales of battle from demonic to merely criminal. _Don't see what Buffy's so worried 'bout. Did just fine,_ he thought.

Spike was tugging on his coat at the end of the playgroup, offering to host the next gathering, when his phone rang. "It's Buffy!" he announced with a huge grin, bouncing away from the others to answer, leaving them smiling wistfully after him.

"Buffy, my love, you're…" His eyes darted to the others at the far end of the room and he toned down his glee. "Uh, how's Grandma…? Me? I'm at Jenny's house with Lissa, for playgroup… No, no worries, pet, we're all getting along grandly… Cleveland? What the bloody hell?" Spike growled into the phone. "Let the sodding Slayers there handle the sodding vamp uprising!"

The vampire began to pace tightly in the small, shaded corner of the room. "No, luv, you know that's no fair, course I don't want Lissa to be gobbled up by a demon because I was too shirty to let you help stop the apocalypse. No, s'not just 'cause Man U might have chance this year… Yeah, yeah… How's Willow back in Seattle already and not you…? Why can't she teleport you back too…? I don't care how beat she is… Miss you so much too, luv."

His nostrils flared. "Just my duster? Fine, but if you're not on that plane tomorrow night 'm coming to Cleveland and 'm gonna drag you back kicking and screaming by your hair, woman. I can't wait a day longer."

With a snarl he slammed his phone shut then froze, realizing he had a mute audience. "Uh…"

"Daddy, you've got angry face," Lissa said. Spike's hands shot up to cover his bumpies and he spun away, panicked.

Listening to the increasing mutters behind him, he realized he was in for it now. He texted Willow.

_Need U STAT 4 4getting spell, 5 women, 10 min rollback._

_Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks… Diversionary tactics before you get tossed out of here into Mr. Sunshine's territory. Buffy'll never know. _Andrew's voice rang in his head. _Evasive maneuvers, captain!_ He shook Andrew away.

Turning back, Spike adopted a wide-legged stance, pelvis thrust forward, and ran a hand down his chest with a suggestive leer.

Big Bad was in the house.

"Ladies," he purred, his hand coming to rest with his thumb tucked into his belt and his fingers splayed out, drawing attention to the cockstand Buffy's naughty suggestion had left him with. "You're gorgeous young things. Tell me. D'you think my wife was funning me about picking her up from the airport in…" He let his voice drop to a raspy rumble, stalking slowly towards them. "… nothing… but…" He did the thing with his tongue. "…my…" They squeaked and huddled together, panting. "…duster…"

He leaned in, breathing into the paralyzed Jenny's ear. "Would you want me to greet you starkers and wrapped in leather?"

Jenny fainted. The others fled from him, dragging her limp body to the couch. Spike chuckled, wondering if lighting up a fag would be too much.

"Wh-what are you?"

He cocked his head and considered his answer, but was distracted by a small hand tugging on his. "Daddy, I have to pee!"

He immediately crouched down – Big Bad vanishing. "Do you know where the loo is, sweetness?" Lissa nodded. "Well then, go on." Standing back up he said with an innocent, confused frown, "Me? I'm Lissa's daddy."

His phone buzzed. '_Finished_' was all it said.

Jenny sat up, her brow wrinkled, and looked around in mystification. "W-William, I'm sorry, were you asking me something?"

"Think we were organizing playgroup for my house next week," he said, watching the others closely. They all nodded quickly, relieved.

Jenny nodded too. "Yeah… that was it… and… something about your coat?"

"Ah." Spike smirked. "Was wondering, since you're ladies. D'you think Buffy was serious about me picking her up from the airport in nothing but the jacket?" he winked, running his hand slowly down the side of his duster. "Or d'you think she was just funning me?"

Jenny fainted once more.

Spike was really looking forward to hosting playgroup next week.

If Buffy let him.

.

THE END


End file.
